In the Arms of an Angel
by Aurinko
Summary: No child can survive without love. Tom Riddle grew up to become Lord Voldemort. Just how much did Lily Potter sacrifice to save her son? (LJ, very brief mentions of RHr, ADMM) Complete!
1. The Blackest Night

﻿ **_In the Arms of an Angel_**

by Aurinko

Summary: No child can survive without love. Tom Riddle grew up to become Lord Voldemort. Just how much did Lily Potter sacrifice to save her son?

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_Chapter One: The Blackest Night_

Moonlight illuminated the shadowy silhouette of a broken woman who had once been beautiful. Her utterly heartbroken cries were terrifying to hear, wrenched from a chest stricken by grief.

She was grateful for the stinging tears that clouded her vision; she could not bear to see. She wanted to scream out her rage and grief and despair and horror to the skies, to rail against Fate, to make them **_feel _**as she felt…she could not bear to feel anymore. Her entire existence was one infinite cycle of pain. She wanted nothing more than to simply _cease—_

A soft whimper silenced her instantly, stilling her half-born scream. She glanced down involuntarily and her heart shattered into a thousand pieces; sharp, icy shards that stung, cut and burned. There before her was a dark-haired little boy, no more than three or four years old, curled tightly into a ball, tears leaking from his eyes as he wept in his sleep.

She was instantly consumed by an agony so painful that death by a thousand cuts would have been pleasure, by a raging fury powerful enough to ignite Vesuvius and demolish Pompeii a thousand times over. Above and beyond all that, however, reigned that one terrible emotion that had brought—and kept—her here in Hell.

Bending her head, she managed to fit inside the dark little space, even as her heart spilled its lifeblood onto the floor. With the utmost tenderness, the woman gathered up the child and held him to her. Delicate hands gently straightened the tense, tangled limbs. She felt as if her heart must burst; nothing could withstand this kind of emotion for so long. Her throat ached from silent screams; her eyes were red-rimmed and swollen from crying. Still, she rocked him back and forth gently, patting his back soothingly. He snuggled closer to her unconsciously, his little hand clutching a fistful of her robes.

She tried to sing him an old lullaby from her childhood, but was so choked by her tears that she stopped after only a few lines. She brushed back his unruly hair with a small, sad smile and pressed a feather-light kiss to his forehead. Deep in a peaceful slumber, the boy did not stir.

In her mind, she wrapped him in her love, a protective shield against the hatred she knew he would face the next day. Deliberately closing her eyes, she savored his sleep-heavy warmth; his mere presence was a salve for her soul.

The sight of him broke her heart; the feel of him in her arms repaired it. So it was, and so it would be again, night after night in a parade of never-ending darkness. Time had lost all meaning for her.

The night passed in a heartbeat. She held him to her desperately, even as his heat became unbearable to her. It was not long, however, before he began to slip from her grasp and she was forced to give him up. _Again_.

She laid him down on that pitiful excuse for a mattress quietly, covering him as best she could with the small, thread-bare blanket. She brushed her fingers across his cheek one last time and pressed a small kiss to his forehead. Her lips were blistered by the time she pulled away and her fingertips badly burned, but it was nothing in comparison to the pain in her heart.

Drawing back, she felt that old anger flare up again: pure, unadulterated hatred so virulent that she literally trembled with it. Perhaps in reaction to the loss of her touch—or to the powerful fury emanating from her slight form—the child stirred, agitated. She froze and watched fearfully as he twitched about fitfully but thankfully did not wake. She sighed deeply and finally let her anger run from her like water, forsaking even her deep-seated hatred of her sister for him. Always, anything: for him.

She stepped out of the cupboard and stood shakily, staring down at him. Dawn was breaking on the eastern horizon.

"_I love you so much,_" she whispered to the sleeping child. "_Until tomorrow night, my_—" she broke off, choking down the sob that threatened to escape. She could bear this no longer!

She _needed_ him here, needed his support, his faith, and his love. He would have done anything to have spared her this; to have spared them this. He had tried…and he had failed. For the first time in longer than she cared to remember, she was_ alone_. She felt a sharp pang of angry resentment, and hated herself for it.

Love _hurt_.

Sunlight had begun to stream through the curtains. Her voice lingered long after her form had faded. "_I love you!"_

Minutes later, young Harry Potter's emerald green eyes opened slowly and he blinked in confusion. It had been a lovely dream, and for a single, solitary moment, for one wonderful second, he had thought…

"BOY!" came his uncle's shout from upstairs. "GET UP!"

Little Harry scrubbed away his tears with a dirty sleeve. He had thought wrong.

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A/N: The product of one late night and one odd thought. My first attempt at angst has a happy ending anyway (can't help it). **Review**, _please_! I will post the rest if anyone has the desire to read it. 


	2. The Predawn Gray

﻿ _Chapter Two: The Predawn Gray_

She fought her way up through the mists and past the veil again. It had grown harder and harder to return as the years went by, but she managed. She was both angry and pleased that Professor Dumbledore sent him back over the summers. He hated it there, she knew, and with good reason. Still, a small, selfish part of her was infinitely grateful for the chance to see him, to hold him, to know that he was well.

She never knew how long had passed since she had last seen him until she arrived. The little that she knew of his life came from what he muttered in his sleep—a trait that he had inherited from his father, though she doubted that he knew it.

She had been so proud of Harry. The youngest seeker in a century! James would have been ecstatic—and amused, she suspected, to find that his son _also _spent an inordinate amount of time playing, talking, and _dreaming _quidditch. She could just see the two of them together, laughing and playing together like the boys they both were…

But that would never happen, and the thought was like chill touch of a dementor's hand.

They had not been there to see Harry get his wand or cast his first spell. Did he even know that the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Wizardry allowed parents to see their child's first spell cast? James had not been there to see Harry fly in his first match or to congratulate him on his first prank. (Harry _was_ the son of a Marauder, and loath as she was to admit it, James's genes were unquestionably dominant there.) She had not been there to chide him about his misdemeanors or help him through his first crush—who _was_ that Cho girl anyway?—but she was grateful that there were others who were. Still, they were missing so much of his life…he had gone through so much without them.

They had cried together twice: the night she found out about Sirius's fate, and later, his death. Twelve years in Azkaban! Even now, the thought was enough to make her weep. Good, funny, wonderful Sirius, always right behind James, always with that devilish sparkle in his dark eyes. He would not have left Harry for the world. Yet not even two years later Bellatrix—that _bitch_—had killed him, and left her Harry without the only adult who had ever offered to give him a real home.

Something about Harry changed on that night. She had felt it in him even before his anguished calls for his godfather revealed its cause. Her son was _sharper_. The little bits of Darkness that she had felt hovering around Harry before had formed a cloud that now covered him entirely. And for the first time since she had discovered that _he_ had returned, she truly feared for her son.

Harry had gone away then, and he had come back only once, two years later. Apparently it had been one of Professor Dumbledore's last requests, and she wondered again exactly how much that man had known. _Tom Riddle_—as they had taken to calling _him_—had finally been defeated, but at a terrible cost. Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall had fallen, along with three members of the Weasley family and more than a hundred others. And her little boy had been at the center of it all.

She and James had known about the prophecy, of course. Dumbledore had told them himself and then offered to become their Secret-Keeper. It was an offer that she had never forgiven herself for turning down.

Harry had killed the Dark Lord, and it had nearly broken him. The Darkness that she had felt before had loosened its hold on him, but nevertheless remained. She had held her son all night, rubbing circles on his back just as she had done when he was a baby. When the morning came, she had kissed him goodbye, holding on to that one tiny spark of hope that she still retained.

She could feel the difference in him before she materialized. The change was so great, in fact, that she wondered if she had accidentally crossed over to the other side.

But no: there, not four feet away, her son slept peacefully in an enormous antique four-poster bed that she recognized immediately. Shocked, she quickly surveyed the room and reached the same conclusion. They were in the master bedroom of Gryphon Manor. Harry had restored the Potter ancestral seat.

She moved around the room quietly, taking note of the painstakingly meticulous effort Harry had put into recreating Gryphon. All of the old furniture had been restored and the new windows were of the same broad 17th-century French design. The walls were exactly as they had been before the war, even down to the elaborate hand-tooled décor on the siding that matched the rest of the furniture.

Her mind reeled. This was impossible. She was dreaming, putting Harry in her memories of Gryphon and creating her very own fantasy for him. After all, the spell only allowed her to see Harry while he was living with her blood, and Petunia would have rather died than set foot in Gryphon. And yet, it was such a lovely dream—

"_Mother?_" a soft voice asked incredulously.

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A/N: Please review!!! If anyone has any suggestions at to who I should pair Harry with, please let me know. Technically all five chapters of this fic are written (though not edited), but I have yet to put a name and face to Harry's girl (I did say that this would end happy, didn't I?). Let me know what you think of the fic. I know it's not my best work, but I'm curious as to what people think of the idea, at least. 


	3. The First of Forever

_Chapter Three: The First of Forever_

"_Mother?_" a soft voice asked incredulously.

She whirled around, only to find herself faced with a young woman who was equally floored. The two women stared at each other for a long moment. She wondered idly how she appeared; she had not seen her reflection for twenty years. Still, she was certain that she looked nothing like this girl's mother.

"I'm Lily Potter."

Her companion looked taken aback. "Yes, of course, I'm sorry—Mrs. Potter," she added quickly. "But how…why…"

Lily smiled sadly. "A very old spell…and Harry."

The sound of his name seemed to bring her back to reality. "Harry! He'll want to see you," she added softly, moving towards the bed.

"No!" Lily whispered harshly, snatching the young woman's arm. "You must not wake him!" Lily froze as Harry first stirred restlessly, and then began to twitch violently, his face fearful.

"No!" he moaned. "No, no, no…please, no," Harry cried, his voice rising. "_NO!_"

The young lady crossed quickly to Harry's side, throwing Lily a strange glance as she did so. She did not hesitate to climb into the bed and curl up behind him. "Shhh, Harry, it's all right," she murmured, sliding her arms around him. Harry responded by turning slightly and pulling her to him like a small child might clutch a favorite toy. "He's gone. I'm right here, love. I'm right here," she repeated reassuringly. "It's all right, Harry." She did not seem at all surprised by Harry's nightmare or by his reaction, merely resigned. "Go back to sleep, love." Lily watched in fascination as Harry's body gradually relaxed to resume the repose of slumber.

When the young lady tried to slide out of bed, however, Harry gave a small, frightened noise and tightened his grip. She relented immediately and leaned back into Harry. "I'm not going anywhere, I promise," she said gently. "Go back to sleep, Harry." She looked up at Lily, an apology in her eyes. Lily simply _beamed_ at her, suddenly happier than she had been in a long, long time. The young lady blushed prettily, and some sudden thought struck her, for she stared intently at Lily, and then looked over Lily's right shoulder. Lily turned, and then pointed questioningly at the small bookshelf near the corner of the room. A small smile and miniscule nod was her answer, and then the young lady closed her eyes.

Lily sat watching her son and his young lady with a silly smile on her face for some time. When she was certain that they were both sound asleep, she rose. Curious as to what the girl had sent her to find, Lily walked over to the small bookshelf. A large silver triple picture frame demanded her attention. Inscribed in flowing script at the top were the words "_The First of Forever._"

She recognized the first picture immediately. It had been one of her favorite photos of the wedding. James had been so handsome in his tuxedo ("the penguin suit," as Sirius had called it) as he spun her around the dance floor. About halfway through the reception, however, Sirius ran into the anti-spiking spells they had cast on the punch. As a result, his bottle of Ogden's Firewhisky had been consumed by fire, while the entire bowl of bright red punch was dumped on his head, dying his white dress shirt pink. "Pink penguin!" Remus shouted, throwing them all into gales of laughter. They had still been smiling when the camera flashed, capturing their love and laughter in one photograph.

Lily smiled tremulously, blinking back tears, as she turned to the second photograph. There stood Harry, resplendent in dark green dress robes, and happier than she had ever seen him. In his arms was that same young woman—his _wife_, Lily realized with a start. It was so strange to think of one's child as being _married_, but Lily had never been happier. The young lady in question was dressed in _gorgeous _robes of a shimmering, feathery material of pure white that swirled around her as she danced. They looked very good together.

Upon seeing the exultant joy, pride, and awe on Harry's face, Lily simply burst into tears. The shy smile of his new wife and the absolute love in her eyes only made her cry harder.

Sobbing, Lily glanced over at the third photograph, and nearly choked in surprise. She blinked. And blinked again. When the picture refused to change, she was forced to admit that she was seeing the truth about her daughter-in-law's family. It took Lily less time to admit that it did not matter. They were in love, and she made Harry very happy. It was more than enough.

A quick glance back at the second photograph strengthened her resolve. They were so _good_ for each other. The open adoration in their eyes was rather charming, actually, and Lily had seen the evidence of their devotion. The children had taken the laughter from her wedding, the devotion from her in-laws, and the love from them both.

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A/N: Please review! Like it? Dislike it? 


	4. The Break of Day

_Chapter Four: The Break of Day_

Still smiling, Lily glanced down at the bookshelf and gasped. Every shelf was filled with picture albums, from "_Baby Harry: Photos of Godric's Hollow_" to "_Harry's First Year at Hogwarts (__Battle__ with Voldemort, Round Two)" _and the newest one, an odd addition that read "_The Potter Press Release."_ Her daughter-in-law was _precious, _Lily decided.

Knowing how much Harry hated his fame, Lily pulled out the latest album, "_The Potter Press Release_" curiously. Opening to the front page, she was met by the following inscription:

"_For our best friends, on their first anniversary:_

_So, Mr. and Mrs. Harry Potter have survived their first year against the press!_

_Well, here's your year, in summary—according to only the most reliable sources, of course._

_We've included our comments as well, for the amusement of you and yours._

_With love,_

_Mr. Ronald Weasley and Ms. Hermione Granger-Weasley"_

Lily smiled and turned the page. So Ron and Hermione had ended up together. She had expected no less of Harry's oldest friends, and she wished them all the best. Her smile faded quickly as she read through the first article. The second followed much the same vein as the first, as did the third, and the fourth, and the fifth…Lily's face was thunderous by the time she finished the first half of the book. Only Ron and Hermione's wry and witty commentary kept her from rushing off to _haunt_ some of these blasted reporters into early graves. But by the end she was smiling again, flipping past picture after picture of the adoring couple on their wedding day. ("_Hermione thought that you might need to see these after all _those"Ron had written at the end. "_And you know that she's always right._")

Lily chuckled lightly as she returned the book to the shelf. She shed a few brief, bitter tears that she and James had missed the most important day of their son's life, but there was simply too much joy in her heart for any real grief to intrude.

For the next short eternity, Lily perused the pages of her son's life. She beamed with pride at the photo of Harry winning his first quidditch match, shouting in exultation as he held up the tiny golden ball, its wings fluttering uselessly against his fingers. She laughed; she cried. She stared soberly at the final page in his seventh-year book. It was a close-up of a bleeding Harry in torn, mud-splattered robes, standing wearily over a dark, smoldering hulk, a shining silver sword in one hand and a broken wand in the other.

Below the photograph in Harry's spiky handwriting was written: "_Tom Riddle, also known as Lord Voldemort, was defeated on __11 June 1997__. Albus and Minerva Dumbledore died protecting Harry Potter from him._"

Below Harry's note, a smaller, elegant hand had corrected him: "_Professors Dumbledore gave their lives for the Wizarding World, for _all_ their students, their beloved school, _and_ for Harry Potter, whom they loved like a grandson. Their sacrifice gave Harry Potter the opportunity to destroy the greatest evil seen in __England__ for more than two centuries. The heroism—and the love—exhibited by all three will not be forgotten._"

There were only two words below that, but they told Lily everything. "_Thank you._"

"He still misses them." Lily gave a small start at the sound of the pensive voice behind her. "I do, too," the young woman added quietly.

"They were extraordinary people." Lily paused, struck by a sudden thought. "'Albus _and_ Minerva Dumbledore?'"

Her daughter-in-law laughed softly. "Yes, Albus and Minerva Dumbledore, who somehow managed to hide that fact from everyone for more than _fifty years_."

After replacing Harry's final school album, she turned to face the young lady reclining in the rocking chair. "Mrs. Potter?"

Lily was startled. "Please, dear, just Lily. _You're_ Mrs. Potter now…though I _did_ like the sound of 'Mother,'" she confessed.

"Mother, then," her daughter-in-law said with a smile. "I have someone I'd like you to meet." The young woman rose, and Lily realized abruptly that the bundle of emerald green in her arms was not simply another blanket for her bed.

"Lily Evans Potter, meet Lily Viviane Potter. Lily, love, this is your grandmother." Twin pairs of emerald green eyes met, one drowsily amused and the other awed and confused. "She's only a few months old, so we haven't been getting much sleep—I'm sure you remember how it is."

"Yes," Lily whispered absently, staring down at the tiny child with a reverence bordering on worshipful.

"She has your eyes." Lily simply nodded, wondering if all new grandparents were equally speechless when presented with their personal miracles. "Would you like to hold her?" Lily accepted her granddaughter into her arms with loving tenderness. Baby Lily was beautiful, a perfect combination of her parents.

"She's perfect," Lily whispered, working hard not to cry. This was Harry's daughter. Her little boy's little girl. Little Lily smiled up at her, and suddenly, Lily Evans Potter knew why she had come tonight.

Handing her grandchild back to her daughter, Lily straightened. "Would you wake Harry for me, please?"

The young woman honored Lily's unspoken request for silence and after carefully readjusting the baby in her arms, moved to obey. "Harry?" she called softly, shaking his shoulder gently. "Wake up, Harry."

"Wha…whazzit?" Harry's voice was heavy with sleep.

"It's important, Harry," his wife insisted. The young man groaned and rolled over. "Harry James!"

"I'm up, I'm up," he protested groggily. He put on the glasses she handed him. "Now, what is it that's so important that I—" Harry broke off, having caught sight of the woman standing silently behind his wife and daughter. "Mum?" he whispered, white as a sheet.

"Hello, Harry." Lily smiled gently at her son. "I've come to say goodbye."

"_What?_"

"Shh, Harry. You needed me, when you were little. You dreamed about me, didn't you?" He nodded, dumbly. Lily looked over at her daughter-in-law and smiled again. "But you don't need me any longer, Harry, and so it's time for me to go."

"But Mum—"

Lily shook her head. "Always remember that your father and I love you very much and that we're very proud of you and everything you've done." She looked at her two children. "Look after each other." Dawn was breaking on the eastern horizon again, and with a final smile of benediction, Lily Evans Potter faded into the daylight.

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A/N: Like it, don't like it? Review! Will post ridiculously happy epilogue in a few days. 


	5. In the Endless Sunlight

_Epilogue: In the Endless Sunlight_

There was light this time. Brilliant, blinding light everywhere. She was drowning, suffocating, suffused with a light that went through her, past her, in her...

And then he was there, handsome as ever, smiling at her with his arms open. She flew to him with a cry of joy, and he caught her as he always did. He was warm, and solid, and _real_…and then she was laughing, laughing and crying with joy as he picked her up and swung her around.

"James!" she screeched, startled.

His grin was unrepentant and roguish; the grin she loved so much. "Yes, Lily?" he asked innocently, setting her down gently.

It was too much for her. Lily threw her arms around him and hugged him tightly, sobbing into his chest. "Oh, James…" The familiar feel of his strong arms encircling her only made her cry harder.

"Now see here Jamsie-boy, you're not making my Lils cry again, are you?" a familiar voice threatened playfully.

Lily turned in James's arms and felt her jaw drop. "Sirius?"

"The one and only," he replied proudly, giving her a mock-bow. There stood Sirius Black, hale and whole, black eyes sparkling. "Miss me much, Lils?"

"Sirius!" Her half-exasperated, half-joyful shout was barely coherent. Sirius looked mildly alarmed when she hurled herself at him, sobbing uncontrollably.

Sirius patted her back awkwardly. "Aw, come on, Lily, you know I didn't mean it like that…"

"Idiot!"

"Well, naturally," another voice laughed. "But it's good to hear you say it, Lily."

"Remus!" Lily missed the grateful look Sirius shot him over her shoulder. She was too busy drinking in the sight of her friend; like James and Sirius, he looked _wonderful_, his amber eyes alight with joy. Unlike Sirius, however, Remus caught her securely and held her as she cried.

"We missed you, Lils," her oldest friend said softly. Lily simply buried her face in his chest and hugged him tighter.

"Hope you're not tryin' to steal my girl, Moony," came James's voice from somewhere behind her.

"Not at all, Prongs. Do us all a favor though, and take care of her, will you?" Lily knew she had missed the infamous Marauder planning again, for suddenly Remus was pushing her away and she was falling and then—and then James was there, kissing her passionately. She responded instantly, automatically. He was fire and ice; she shivered in his arms as his heat coursed through her veins.

When they finally broke apart, all traces of her tears were gone, and she smiled up at him warmly, ignoring Sirius's smirk and Remus's little smile.

"Harry got married," Lily told her husband happily.

"I know." She looked at him questioningly, and James smiled. "Harry must have found his angel, because you're here with me."

_Finis._

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_A/N: Hey, you got to the end! Hope someone enjoyed it. Review, review! Please? 


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